


some of them want to be used by you

by StrangeHormones



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Obsession, Oral Sex, Smut, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: brainscrambled!bucky barnes x reader| the body yearns to be touched. it is a monster in its appetite for flesh.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 84





	some of them want to be used by you

He’s never said a word to you. Never tried to follow you inside the building. He hasn’t approached you. In reality, you might have thought it was a coincidence if he didn’t seem to be waiting each time. You’d get off work, changing in the bathroom before beginning your nightly walk. He’s always there, just a few steps behind, and when you get to your apartment building, he stays outside. You’ve never seen himself. He’s just a bulky shadow, occasionally something glints in the stuttering light of the street lamps but you’ve never seen his face. Never heard his voice. You have no idea who he is. But he seems to know everything about you. If your feet meet the sidewalk there’s a good chance he’ll be there waiting. You have no idea why you haven’t done anything that warranted being followed by any authority, weren’t important enough to be under someone’s protection, and he hadn’t done anything strange enough to be considered a stalker. More and more, he just started to feel like your shadow. Until he became something that crossed your peripheral but you didn’t consider any danger. You had made the mistake, you knew that now, and he had reacted like any predator did when it’s prey’s guard was down. He struck.

It’s one of the worst days of your life. You knew it wasn’t. You had much worse days after all. But you had been doing so well, holding it all together. It felt like failure and you let yourself sob as you walked home in the rain. You don’t even consider your shadow. Too busy worrying about how you would manage to find a new job and how you wouldn’t be able to get your card working until Monday. The day after tomorrow. The box that holds the few meager personal items you had kept on your desk has turned to mush in your hands. A few pens, a book that wasn’t even yours, and a picture of you and your ex you had never bothered to throw out didn’t seem worth the hassle. You dropped them to pull your soaked coat tighter with one hand as if it would do anything to stave off the shivers racking your body. The other wipes at your face and hair, but it doesn’t stop the rivers already coursing down your face.

Even the drafty lobby of your building is welcoming in its barely-there warmth, just a few degrees warmer than your own body. The elevator is out of order and all you can do is growl deep in your throat as you look at the hazardous stairs and think of your door, on the seventh floor. You mumble profanities as you make your way up, complaining about everything you can as you batter down sobs as to not draw attention from the neighbors you had worked hard not to know. You had foolishly thought that the heat from the exercise would bring you some comfort but instead the sweat and rain feel like a tacky mixture when mixed with the clinging fabric of your cardigan. What had once been chosen for its thin fabric had been spent the rest of the walk annoying you as there was no way to keep it away without taking it off.

You’ve made sure to securely lock the front door. Deadbolt and chain before working off your shoes and socks. Shrugging off your overcoat, the rest of the clothes making wet slapping sounds as they hit the discolored tiles of the kitchen and faux hardwood flooring. You turn the shower on much hotter than you probably should but it doesn’t matter. The steam that begins to build in the tiny bathroom is truly welcome. You can finally breathe for the first time since your boss called you into his office, God, almost three hours ago and said those dreaded words. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. Not enough to keep you around though. The air is heavy, difficult to breathe, and grounding. You step into the water, it burns in all the right ways splattering against your clammy skin. You just stand there. No plans to wash. Only losing yourself in the way it began to loosen your muscles that had become tense with sadness and stuck there with the barely survivable temperature. You hum, a quiet noise of satisfaction that helps melt everything from your mind. There wasn’t anything you could do. Tomorrow, you’d put on your big girl panties and job hunt. You’d survive two uncomfortable days on minimal groceries and you would get over this. Just like you always did. Instead, your mind turns to the slightly dropping temperature. You open your eyes to fog but it seems to be slipping ever so slowly from the door. As if someone had cracked the door and welcomed themselves to your comfort.

Only then do you remember your shadow. That he would’ve seen you weak, barely holding it together. Had this been the time he had decided to fulfill whatever plan he had been concocting in his mind? You turn the nozzles quietly as if somehow the dead water wouldn’t alert him to the end of your shower. Perhaps this was best, it felt on par for how the day had gone. At least you were relaxed now, that was something. Finding your own deflation had stopped you from truly taking the situation in it seemed. Wrapping your fluffiest towel around yourself, you took an extra few moments to work another towel through your hair. Just to keep the heavy strands from annoying you, an odd thing to worry about you had to admit but it seemed to fall in place with the of course attitude. The one that would suddenly disappear in favor of something hitting you like a freight train stepping out the bathroom door into your bedroom.

It’s not what you imagined. He’s handsome, far more handsome than you could’ve possibly imagined. Though you realized now you hadn’t really thought to imagine him. Maybe you wouldn’t have been caught so off guard, though you know that’s not true. He’s cut from marble, fashioned by some god you had forgotten about long before you’d ever reached adulthood. His hair is well taken care of but messy. As if every morning he’s in a rush. Every morning he stands across from your stoop. Far too distracted by you to take more than the necessary care of himself. And he’s looking at you- God! It makes your heart stop. It’s like he can see into your very soul, the darkest blue you’ve ever seen dragging so wantonly over your flesh you wonder how you’d never felt it before. He doesn’t just want you, he needs you. And even though you should be terrified by the way he looks at you from his seat on the bed. Even though you should wonder what else a man capable of breaking into your apartment is capable of doing. Even though, should, words that are starting to sound like just that. Things someone made up to tell you how to feel. How could they know? To be on the other end of such a beautiful creature’s desperation is an indescribable feeling that reminds you very much of being on a roller coaster. Turned up by a thousand. You pad slowly across the room, ignoring the wind that rolls across your damp skin. You stop in front of him, almost touching. You can see now that what had been glinting in the night, what he had clearly tried to hide from you. A metal hand that scares you in ways you didn’t expect to find exciting. A collage of bruises flashes behind the blink of your eyelids before you’re looking at him.

It’s like he knows. Like he can see it inside you. All the ways you’re fucked up. That you’re broken. It doesn’t feel that way. He seems far too focused on your skin. Watching his jaw clench and his fingers twitch. 

“Who are you?” it’s your voice, it’s your lips moving but it doesn’t sound like you. It’s hollow, you don’t feel the need for a real answer. It won’t make a difference.

What’s happening now is happening, “James,” and while you can believe it, he doesn’t quite seem to, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t have been following me either,” you countered and he looks full of shame, “Why?”

“I-” his eyebrows furrow as if he had never taken any real time to think about it, “I don’t know. You- uh,” it’s strange to see his smile, stranger that you crave it, “Those boys were picking on that kid and you-” he shook his head, “I can’t-” closing his eyes tight as the smile falls and shaking his head back and forth, as if willing something terrible away with the motion, “I should go.”

“Why now?” he’s right. He should leave, you know nothing about this man except that he’s clearly quite dangerous. 

Not this man. James.

“You were crying,” he answers, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, “I didn’t think. Just-” he shook his head, “You should be scared of me.”

“I know,” you keep your voice soft, gentle, “I don’t think you’d hurt me,” he shook his head once again, even harder than before, “What do you want from me, James?”

“I just-” he swallows hard, his fingers flexing, “I just want to touch you.”

You don’t trust your voice, outstretched fingers moving towards his face till just the tips ran along his stubble-covered jaw. His eyes fluttered closed and you were able to see every inch of him relax in an instant. As if he’d been wound so tight for so long he didn’t quite know what else to do with comfort than completely let go. Your touch is firm, sliding till you held his cheek in the palm of your hand. He moved against you, rubbing his nose along your wrist, he can’t control his hands. One cups the back of your knee, warm and tight, the other holds your forearm just inches from his face. As if you would dare to pull away. You wouldn’t. Not tonight at least. There was something endlessly thrilling about being needed so desperately. It is indescribably selfish, you’re far too aware of that. And taking something from a man who’s mental stability was questionable at best was unbelievably dangerous. You know all that but it’s another language to you. There is no logic in instinct. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He saw something he liked and he’d followed you, watched you, and when the moment was right he slipped in to finally have what he wanted. The feeling of skin to skin. It’s so innocent that if it weren’t for the slowly warming metal against you and the tight grip it held, it might have been laughable to consider him dangerous. You felt far more capable of destroying his heart than he ever could your body.

“You feel real,” you don’t quite understand what it means but the way he gasps it makes that little fact not matter, “You’re after,” it feels important, you rub your thumb along his cheekbone and he sighs.

“After what?”

You don’t expect how dark his eyes are when they open. Pupils blown and the blue has deepened to the color of midnight, your breath catches in your throat.

“So much death.”

You entire body shivers, goosebumps erupt from head to toe. You’ve plunged straight into something you don’t understand. You should push him away, tell him to get out, and drink wine while brushing up your resume. Your free hand tugs on the tucked corner of your towel, letting the fabric fall to the floor with a dull thud. He groans, a low animal sound that rushes every primal part of yourself to the surface. His grip on that back of your knee pulls you forward, the silver arm pulled you closer around the waist. Your knees spread around him exposes your already dampening core and presses it against the seam that covers his zippers. A small oh falls from your lips that precedes many others by mere seconds. Carefully you grip the edges of the long tee he wears, tugging upward, higher and higher till it fell from his body and somewhere forgotten on the floor. Each angle of him seems sharper in the moonlight, predatory.

His lips run across your shoulders and neck, his calloused hand trace up your torso, gripping your breast and running his thumb over a quickly hardening nipple. You dip a hand into his hair, just to ground you and you can feel him groan against your jaw before taking your lips in a bruising kiss. It steals the breath from you, lost in how he feels so warm against you. How his hands seem to switch imperceptibly. Laving attention on the other nipple, the metal is new, odd, and entirely welcoming while his other hand flattens up the curve of your spine. You arch, it presses you tighter against him and the harsh fabric rocking against your clit makes you gasp. The sudden electricity brings you back to your senses enough to begin clawing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to,” he grunts when the button finally snaps open, “I just want to touch you,” firmer now, as if he realizes that he isn’t in someplace between dream and nightmare.

You stop, sure he must see how your sudden need for him clouds your senses, “Then touch me,” letting your lips brush as you tugged at the zipper.

Your hand is about to dart beneath the rough fabric of his jeans when everything shifts. It’s barely seconds, your soft quilt pressing against your back as he abandons your lips, “Don’t move,” a husky whisper rife with unsaid promise.

As long as you listen. It seems easy when his hands explore your skin firmly as his lips do the same softly. But the longer he lavishes you with his attention the harder it becomes, every nerve ending is electric. Your muscles twitch, tensing as you don’t even dare a spasm. You bite your lip, twist the blanket best you can in your grip when his lips move along the inside of your ankle, over the round of your calf, past your knee. He hesitates, pressing his stubbled cheek against your thigh, his sigh rolls over your slick core shooting fireworks in front of your eyes. He must feel the goosebumps that erupt along your skin because he hums. A deep, primal sound that threatens to roll your eyes into the back of your head. Your fingers itch to run through his hair, gripping the strands and forcing him to where you want him most but you don’t. There’s a reason he’s told you not to move, something only he knows while you’re far too eager to discover what it is. Perhaps it’s the eagerness itself. You’re not sure. Everything is foggy in your brain, beginning to tangle, you’re sure that soon you’ll just be a bundle of nerves controlled by every part of you that is still animal.

“Please, James,” you don’t recognize your voice, there’s something about its jaggedness that seems to cut him open, “Please touch me,” and everything comes pouring out.

His scruff makes your lips tingle as he devoured you like a predator does its prey. Losing himself in the taste of you from the source as he swirls his tongue around your straining clit, his arms easing your legs over his shoulders, some unspoken sign that you’ve moved forward. You dare to dip your fingers into his soft hair, dragging your nails across the sensitive nerves of his scalp, the groan vibrates through your body until you’re sure you can feel it in your fingers and toes. You don’t press but when his teeth tug at the bundle of nerves your hands instinctively jerk, aiming to yank him backward. He’s steadfast, warmed metal appears, working gently at your eager hole while his other hand pushes along the skin of your stomach, the boney valley between your breasts. It’s not enough to have you in some of the most carnal of ways, he craves the very feel of you. A feeling that can’t be faked and is recognizable only to those truly listening. His fingers finally slipped inside you, stretching you in ways you had never felt before. It’s about you, feeling you, and all the wonderful ways he could do that. You’ve never felt so a part of someone, losing track of where you end and he begins. 

There is no build, no wave that washes over you. It’s being consumed by fire. Your toes point, your breath stops, and though your back moves to arch, his hand keeps you down, firmly on Earth. Where you could see his midnight gaze focused only on you, desperate and soft, some sort of him he knows but doesn’t remember. He finds it with you and that vulnerability sends you over the edge. It’s like you can feel every blood cell, each bit of electricity shooting through your brain stem, you’ve never felt so a part of yourself, of someone else. You need him, more than you can remember needing anything. Had he known that? Had he smelt something on you that you hadn’t even known existed until he ripped it out of you?

Sticky sweet kisses trace the same path his hand had, only now they rise higher as he works his fingers in and out of you, a smooth fluid motion that keeps you right at the edge, desperate to feel it once again, craving more. Until you’re drowning in his kiss again, the taste of you combined with his is a reminder that whatever is happening here was meant to happen. Somehow you would always end up like here with this. It’s why you’re inexplicably drawn to him, how you can feel everything you do. It’s why he seems to have burrowed his way into your marrow. He holds you close, his noises of appreciation tumbling against your lips as your limbs rubbed against him, each move languid against his sweat-soaked skin. His breath comes in pants, fingers speeding up, he needs one more from you. It’s heavy in the air. One more before he can bury himself in you, touch you as completely as anyone could for the first time, something that’s his. That can never be taken away from him.

It’s a short climb up and a sharp turn down, a sudden moan ripping through you that echoed in your apartment. Another, he presses his temple against yours, eagerly taking each noise into his memory. Desperate for it. For you. You groan, body tensing as fire rushed through you as if it were finding a way to crawl beneath his skin. It must have because his fingers disappear, giving you no time to even lament their absence before the silky soft head of his cock is slipping between your lips. He pulses against you, waiting, as every part of him has for so long.

“James,” a breath against his ear is all the coherent thought you can manage.

It’s the only thing he needs. He’s slow, torturously so, you’re desperate for him to rip you apart at the seams. But he doesn’t. Brushing kisses along the bridge of your nose, your cheeks, the blue had all but disappeared from his eyes, but even through the animal he had become so used to being you could see the man you know he is. The one who had seen you crying and needed to give you comfort, the one who had told you he shouldn’t be here. But he should be, he has to be, he’s supposed to be. You hold his face in your hands, pinkies brushing along his stubbled jaw comfortingly, daring yourself to kiss someone softer than you had ever believed yourself capable of. He groans, pushing deeper and deeper, until even the gentlest meeting of lips left your lungs burning for air.

It’s a sign of what’s to come. His hips easing back until just his tip rested inside you, drawing whines from you that made him crave more. He jerks forward, creating a slow, hard rhythm that nudges against a beautiful painful place inside you. Over and over, a solid friction against your sensitive walls. He grunts, until he trusts himself enough to moan. A sound that vibrates through your whole body. You need that noise again, you need it filling you up till it filled every silence of your waking world. Your lips trail along the corded muscles of his neck, your name tumbles from his lips.

You’ve never cum from just the sound of your name, the stretch of him only shooting you higher than you’ve ever been. You’re muscles ache as they tense and twitch, knees digging into his ribs, heels into the small of his back, you’ve had to have broken the skin of his forearm as you through your head and hips back when you torso juts upwards. You don’t know if you’re moaning or sobbing, only that you can’t stop,

“It’s alright.”

He barely seems to trust his own voice and he uses it to comfort you. You’ve never felt anything like this and you’re desperate to live in it forever.

“I’ve got ya, sweetheart.”

It’s different. Mischievous. Like some part of you has nailed the old him back into his skin for just a moment, whoever that was. Before so much death.

“Always.”

You scream, bucking against him wildly, Desperate. Wanton. He holds you tight, holding the same rhythm that’s destroying you so beautifully. Sobbing. Moaning. It feels like more than the waking world and while you hated the word divine, it truly felt like some divine intervention that had led you both to this perfect moment. Where everything fell into place. 

He rocks gently against you as you fall back down to Earth, using every ounce of control left in him to hold himself back. He needs you to see what he had; total loss of control. Your vision is foggy, the pleasure he still shot through you with every movement threatened to take over any second. It seems impossible the speed his thrusts take, how much harder each snap of his thrust can be, literally fucking you into the mattress. You’re heady with the thought, the look that takes over his face, eyes fluttering closed and perfect lashes laying against his cheeks. He’s having a hard time keeping the pace, you can feel him twitch and swell inside you, even more when you used what little true strength you had left to clamp down on him. His abandons all pretense, moaning against your ear as he grinds down against you, the head of his cock pressed tight to your cervix and giving you the first warm sensation of him finally losing all self-control inside you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you pant, running your fingers through his hair, along his cheeks, his closed eyelids, “My beautiful James.”

He grinds against you, making sure every last drop makes it way inside you. Pressing harder and deeper than you had ever imagined possible until you’re almost sure he had found some way to meld your soul into his. Holding you close, tight, pulling you into him as he lost himself completely in you. Until all that’s left of you both is some deep primal being that you’ve created together.

Your eyes flutter open early the next morning, your closet doors are wide open, your drawers have pulled from the dresser, clothes strewn everywhere. Sitting up slowly it isn’t hard to find him, crouched over the vintage overnight hard bag, half full and considering all the items he had strewn around him. Carefully you sit on the edge of the bed, sheet clutched tightly against you as your groggy brain began to take in the implications of what you’re seeing. He stops every inch of him, even his breathing. You stand, stepping gingerly between the chaotic pathways he’s created with your belongings until you’re able to hold his cheek in your hand. His inhale is sharp, cutting you much like his gaze did now, gutting you in all the best ways.

"Come with me,” his voice moves beyond desperation straight to begging, “Please,” as if you’re the only that’s holding him together. 

Maybe you are.


End file.
